


Claws in Casinos

by CoolSecretTwin



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Casino Scene, Invasion of personal space, Language, Shoulder groping, Tags Are Hard, he came out for a good time, honestly feeling so attacked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 04:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoolSecretTwin/pseuds/CoolSecretTwin
Summary: All Agent Ross wanted was to make the exchange. Maybe win some money and get a drink while he was at it. But then the king of Wakanda showed up. His night just got a lot more stressful.





	Claws in Casinos

**Author's Note:**

> I love Black Panther. I wrote this around the time it came out. It's always a delight to see Martin Freeman and Andy Serkis interact on screen.

Surprises, outside of birthdays, were never good. They could be sorted into categories: stressful or irritating. Some, even rage-inducing. 

Some weren't surprising at all. Just hovering outside of awareness, and when they do appear, aren't completely out of the blue. 

In working with the CIA, the world had lost its ability to surprise Ross. The way he saw it, if he let himself continually be surprised, the only way his mouth would close was when they wired it shut during autopsy. That's how he explained it to the recruits anyway.

He wasn't always immune. The Iron Man had flown over his airbase in Iraq ten years ago and his mouth dropped open. He got a grainy picture on his old phone, the one with the screen that slid down over the keypad. Sent it to a buddy in the Navy. Then, gods fell out of goddamn holes in the sky. By the time robots invaded the internet, the biggest reaction it got out of him was an eye roll. He now kept an extra copy of most of his data on paper. He's pretty sure the rest of SHIELD did too.

The Avengers were a nuisance. Attracted even more nuisances. What good were they if they brought trouble and left the task force and CIA to clean it up after every battle?

By the mid 2010s, Ross had a touch screen phone, and a digital file of every weapon ever confiscated from extra terrestrial/super beings. Gone were the days of lagging behind tech. You'd get lost in the dust if you were even  generation behind.

Now, Agent Ross of the CIA was two steps ahead. Tell him something he didn't know.

But sometimes he just needed the old cavalier and Glock. Old fashioned, like his old man would say. Especially for Status Three subjects. Status Four were ET/S, maximum surveillance, advanced weaponry standby when dealing with the unknown. Sergeant Barnes, for example. Status Three was someone like Agent Romanoff. Mortal, they but could kill a bystander easily without proper precautions.

Everett had dealt with Klaue - not just men like him. There wasn't a man like Klaue, not in this business. And that's what it was. A business. Nothing personal. Klaue's job was to cause the CIA - and Ross - problems. A few years back, the agency had been tracking the black market dealer, when their mole vanished. Poof. Gone. Klaue had found out who he was, who he worked for, and wanted something that he shouldn't have known the agency had. Sent back a piece of their agent each day they didn't give it to him. They finally ended up with half the agent before the dickwad called it quits. Maybe he knew all along that they wouldn't give it up. It still would have been easier to kill the man. But Klaue was anything but easy.

This was meant to be an easy transaction with a difficult status three businessman, but worth the benefits. Governments around the world spilled blood for even a scrap of vibranium. Didn't matter who it came from, just that they get it. Don't ask, don't tell. This little transaction just happened to fall on Ross.

He got the call on the way to Bucharest. They would have sent Wallace, but he was "indisposed," which, after seven years in the agency, he knew was just over polite for grossly incompetent. Which meant he had to hand Bucharest off to Carter, and get a connecting flight at the airport to take him to Busan. Luckily a small sandwich shop made a damn strong coffee bitter enough to make his hair curl.

So forgive him if he wanted to enjoy himself while in Busan. Security was standing by for the code red, and he had time to play a game of craps. It was a decent night, scheduled, with no room for surprises.

Until that motherfucker waltzed in like he owned the place.

Just when Ross thought he would get a night off, _of course_ His Highness would get word of Klaue's location. It never occurred to him that he would actually _show up_ \- in South Korea. Course, it never occurred to him that he would don a cat suit to hunt down a fugitive either.

_No surprises_ , he reminded himself.

King T'Challa sidled up to him, crisp black suit tailored to fit his lean frame. Had he not known him, at a glance, Ross never would've guessed that he would be able to kick a full grown man across a room. But he wasn't just a king. Ross had seen the suit up close. Indestructible - not a scratch on him, with claws and hyperaware ears, just like a cat. Any another place at another time it would be funny, but right now, this was pretty un-fucking-funny.

"Your Highness," Everett said, nodding his head in a semblance of a bow, but kept his eyes on the craps table. The last thing he needed was to set off an alert to one of his agents. He relaxed his shoulders, turning slightly, just two strangers enjoying a game.

Any other time, any other place, he would have loved to share a beer with him. Out of all the supers he'd encountered, T'Challa was the least negligent, despite going after Zemo AWOL. 

He hadn't seen the king approach with anyone, but Ross was certain a few of his warriors were hidden somewhere in the crowd. No way would they let their king handle this alone.

"Agent Ross," King T'Challa returned, ever the polite diplomat, a small smile toying at the corner of his mouth. "You are buying from Klaue."

Fuck. _Fuck._

He wasn't here for just a good time. This mission just got exponentially more complicated.

Ross dropped a stack of chips to join the king's pile.

"What I'm doing, or not doing, on behalf of the U.S. government is none of your concern," he said. "Now whatever the hell you're up to? Do me a favor, stay out of my way."

He had to make it clear. Even if T'Challa was royalty, this was under the jurisdiction of the CIA. He could not interfere, and Ross couldn't afford to have a repeat of Barnes on foreign soil. 

The king leaned over the table, wrists hanging over the green, that small smile still present.

"I gave you Zemo," he reminded him.

Ross straightened up to his full height - still an inch shorter than T'Challa - and looked him in the eye.

"Didn't I keep it under wraps that the _king_ of a third world country runs around in a bullet proof cat suit? I'd say we were even." _Even Steven._  "You really need to leave. Now."

The king followed him, much more graceful in movement, not a single tensed muscle in his body. "Klaue is leaving out that door with me," he said in the same soft tone, but with just enough bite to mean business. "You've been warned."

His elbow bumped Ross' in a gentle goodbye as he walked away. Royalty weren't the type to let commoners have the last word.

He glanced down at the game. "You won," he called, without an effort. Not like a king needed any money that was gambled. 

He drummed his fingers as he debated. He knew the history between Wakanda and Klaue, knew the bloodshed it cost the Wakandans, who already had so little. If he were a lesser man, he probably would've knocked Everett to the floor for dealing with blood money. He would've done the same to anyone who betrayed his trust. 

Ross raised his watch to his chin, following behind T'Challa, his mind made up. "Okay, heads up. The king of Wakanda is here."

He heard a bit of static conversation when Sanchez cleared his throat in the ear piece. "For craps?"

Everett rolled his eyes and blew out a breath. Indisposed. _Should've stayed in Bucharest._

He found T'Challa at another table, seemingly concentrating on the dice, but Ross could see him scanning the room, ever vigilant. Like a cat.

He cleared his throat and turned off the mic in his watch, glancing around. "Alright," he explained quickly. "Vibranium from Sokovia links back to a person that I'm not actually saying I'm here to make a deal with."

The king looked at him coolly. 

"But that deal will _not_ be called off," he finished lamely. 

King T'Challa turned from the game to face him, his head cocked to the side, studying him. He knew what he looked like, three inches shorter than everyone, acting on behalf of an entire government. All T'Challa had to do was raise an eyebrow, and he'd have an entire army behind him.

Ross nodded. "When the dust settles, you and me can work something out."

Not a month ago had they departed Vienna on a handshake, with an agreement that they would keep his secret. Everett wouldn't blame him if he had doubted that promise. He had been left to dangle too many times by others with their own agendas. But he didn't have an agenda with T'Challa. There was nothing for him or the U.S. government to gain by sharing the secret of a king of a third world country.

T'Challa, for a moment, looked at him with something akin to pity. "I'm not here to make a deal," he said. He laid another stack of chips on the table. "I gave my word to bring him back to face justice." His eyes had that razor sharpness to them again. Just a flicker of true emotion behind them. "And my word is my honor, Agent Ross. I will not say it again."

He left. Everett did not follow. 

It wasn't a question of the vibranium, clearly he didn't care about it. He wanted Klaue's head. And Everett was the only thing standing between them.

-x-

At least Highness had enough sense to keep a low profile. Low enough that Ross lost sight of him.

Klaue had sense, (did he?) but lacked restraint. Having money and lackeys that could beat the shit out of you would do that. A rage on two legs with a presence that filled the room, he stomped down the stairs. He was here for business. At least, that's what Everett assumed the tie was for.

He glanced down at his own suit. Black tie. That was business. Klaue looked like belonged in a ring.

The brute led his posse, stomping with a shoulder-hip swagger. His face lit up with a lopsided grin when saw Everett waiting. With the scruff of hair on top of his head and scraggly beard that framed his face, Klaue's appearance reminded him of an ape.

Everett only allowed a two-day stubble before his next shave. Maybe if he didn't respect his job as much, he might consider growing one again like in his pilot days. But this job required tidiness to his dress.

Ross pulled himself to his full height. Klaue was a big man, with five other men tailing him. He kept his shoulders hunched, a slight rhythm suggesting he favored his right side. He left shoulder slumped slightly due to the extra weight on his prosthetic.

Everett nodded. "Well that is quite the... entourage. You coming out with a mixtape?"

He was already regretting opening his mouth.

Klaue didn't miss a beat. "Yeah!" He gave a jerky nod. "Actually there is one! I can send you the link to my soundcloud." He snapped to one of his lackeys, asking about the name, and Everett realized the joker wasn't fucking with him.

"Please, don't make me listen to your music," he blurted. "I just meant, you got a lot of people with you."

Klaue, still amused, leaned close, eyes darting around them. "You think they're here for you?" he teased. 

Ross looked to the second floor, where two others were staring down at them. A large hand crept up to his shoulder, nearly touching his neck, bringing his attention back.

Everett glanced down at the hand. The ordinary one. It would be redundant to call it a "good" hand, because according to his file, the prosthetic doubled as a gun. That was a damn good arm.

"Don't worry." Klaue winked, gently tugging him. Everett locked his knees. He didn't want to get any closer than necessary. "I can do a deal with you by myself, thank you very much," he said under his breath.

Everett tried to shrug his arm out of his grasp, but Klaue, looking extremely amused, pulled him back into his grasp. 

"They treating you alright here? I can get you a drink you'd die for."

Everett bit off a smile. "Running on the clock I'm afraid."

Klaue clicked his tongue. His gold teeth glimmered in the light. "That how you treat your best customer? Wore my best suit an' everything." He sniffed and turned to the closest lackey. "Americans, right?"

They bobbed in agreement. _Fucking sheep._ Everett bristled under his collar.

Klaue was hardly the customer. What customer wanted diamonds? 

_No snark,_ he reminded himself.

"Agency only covers car and hotel."

Klaue dug his fingers into his shoulder, wincing. "You work too much friend. S'not good for you."

He kept rubbing him.

"Well," Ross cleared his throat. "Too many vacation days and we'd never come back."

Klaue showed too many teeth when he smiled. He leaned closer. "You go on vacation with me and I'll make sure you _never_ have to go back."

Ross wrinkled his nose and lifted his shoulder, hoping Klaue would catch the hint. The man was thick though. It remained planted on him like a leech.

Klaue squeezed him again, the heavy palm inching lower to his sleeve. "You got the diamonds?"

He looked over his shoulder and nodded for Beth to head over. He cringed at the hand and shrugged out of his grip. "That's enough," he muttered.

He gripped the case tight in his hand. He didn't think Klaue would try to grab it, but he was not going back to headquarters as the guy who didn't have a good grip on the case and had it literally snatched out of his grasp.

He looked at Klaue knowingly. "Vibranium?"

And if that son of bitch didn't pull down his zip and stuff his hand down the front of his pants. Everett blinked and some working connection in his brain that _hadn't_ shorted out managed to drag his eyes away. _You don't look at the other guy while he's taking a wiz Evie._  

The design in the banister, that was much more interesting than a guy with his hand down his trousers.

A rasp of fabric and Klaue slammed down the package with a thunk. For such a small sample of vibranium it sounded heavy. Ross glanced at the brown paper wrapped package. Even wrote "fragile" on the side. He could probably get a pair of grilling tongs from the kitchen. Or Dale. Dale could pick up the dick vibranium.

He looked at Klaue.

He shrugged, hands spread in innocence. "Was going to buy myself a fancy suitcase but I... thought I'd save myself some money." He grinned.

Jesus they didn't pay him enough.

Klaue yanked his zip up. "Shoulda seen the look on the guy that tried to frisk me at the airport."

Everett tightened his hold on the case.

Suddenly there was a shout from upstairs and the craps table exploded in a crackle of wood and torn fabric, sending cards and chips raining through the air. Everett froze. Klaue stared at the body on the table, then his eyes snapped to Ross, all humor evaporated from them.

Casino night was over.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all liked it. We don't really know a lot about Freeman's character, so I liked exploring that. And imagining how intimidating it would be to stand next to the epitome of cool, Chadwick Boseman.


End file.
